her, the heat of him between her legs and the gentle, almost unbearable throb of the engine was turning her into a quivering mass of need.
“Now you, darling, are going in the driving seat, but don’t presume for one moment you’re in control.” His voice was soft against her ear, the warmth of his breath fanning out over her cheek as he lifted her forward onto the seat that was still warm from his body. “Lean forward, hold the handlebars.” She stretched forward, the heat and tremble of the engine teasing nipples that were already hard, tormenting her swollen clit as his hand rested in the small of her back, pressing her closer to the machine. She could feel it already starting, the slow relentless climb of an orgasm, the rolling need radiating out from her centre.
He kept one smouldering hand resting on her for a moment, then turned his full attention back to his leathers, cursing as he fought with them. Then he was back on the bike, behind her. “You can rev it up you know.” There was humour in the dark soft voice. His hands slipped up her thighs, round her hips, under her dress, his fingers tracing along her knicker line, either side of her mound, his thumbs circling with a pressure that told her he wasn’t going to mess. One hand slipped between her legs, traced along her slit until he found her clit and she groaned as he touched her. Whimpered as he increased the pressure, as one finger slipped inside her. “You really do want it don’t you?” He lifted her slightly from the seat. “Hold on tight, darling.”
She was holding her breath with need, but when he sank inside her she still screamed. Screamed as the weight of his body against her pressed her throbbing clit into the shudder of the bike, screamed as she came with urgent pulses. “Oh. My. God.” She could barely get the words out.
He waited, held still as she shuddered around him and then as her body subsided he started. Full long strokes that filled her. Georgie clung onto the handlebars, trying desperately to control the slide of her body against the bike, to control the friction as he gripped her hips with firm fingers and slammed into her. She lifted her head, stared unseeing at the trees that surrounded them, and the animal sounds had to be her as she growled and cursed, writhed against him, as her body fought the vibrations, willed the orgasm to build higher, higher. And then she couldn’t hold that moment any longer. She was unfurling inside, her body pulsing more urgently this time, and he seemed to expand inside her as she closed around him. Gripping, wanting, needing, until he swore, pulled her savagely back against him. And then nothing. Silence apart from the sound of their breathing, panting. Dark.
He pulled out. Gently flicked her knickers back into place with one finger. Eased her up with strong hands until she was leaning back against the warmth of his chest and it felt weirdly familiar as he held her. Then he seemed to realise. Slowly dropped his arms away and she could almost feel him setting the distance between them.
“You okay?”
She nodded. Tugged at her lower lip with sharp teeth, because she didn’t know what else to do.
And he was off the bike, passed her a helmet wordlessly and they were back on the road heading for the town before she could think of a single thing to say to him. He weaved his way round the edge of town and pulled up outside her home, the old family home that she’d just returned to after years away, without even asking where she needed dropping.
Georgie clambered off the bike. Stood awkwardly on the kerb and he reached out, straightened her dress down. Flipped his visor up.
“Who said I lived here?”
“Who’d have thought sweet little Georgina would turn into such a naughty girl?”
Georgie stared at him. She’d never even thought he knew her name when they were at school, and she’d not been back in town for years. The witch called Carol had made sure of that. She’d sweet talked Alfie into alternating between keeping her in the mouldy mansion in the back of beyond and sending her off to a stuffy boarding school to wear big knickers and starchy shirts. Anywhere that meant they didn’t have to do anything, could just ignore her. Georgie refused to think of him as ‘Dad’ any more, he was Alfie. Carol’s conquest. Carol’s puppet. Well they couldn’t ignore her now she was big enough to say no.
“Is that what they teach you at posh schools these days?”
It was like he’d read her mind. “Better than learning how to balance a book on your head.”
“Can you do that too?” He looked grave, serious. Was studying her like he thought he’d made a mistake.
“Not at the same time.”
This time he ignored the flippant comment, didn’t join in with the banter. “Don’t let having it all fuck you up, Georgie girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s nothing wrong with nice.” Which was even more confusing.
He flicked his visor down, so all she could see was the dark shadow of his eyes.
“Do you want to come in?” She hadn’t meant to say it, she never said it. But it just came spilling out.
“No thanks. You got what you wanted, better to leave it at that, eh?” He revved up the bike hard, swung it in a tight circle and she was left standing on the pavement with the smell of exhaust fumes acrid in her nostrils.
Prick. Georgie slammed the door behind her, dropped her purse in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. He’d got what he wanted as well, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what it was about? She glanced at the bottles of white wine that lined the fridge, then with a sigh reached for the bottle of water.
It was the way he’d looked at her. A mixture of anger and concern. A bit like the look her father used to give her when she’d been naughty and he’d been asking her why. He was one hundred per cent sober, unlike her, but he’d had this restrained anger about him that made her want to call him back. Ask him why. But she never did that. Never asked. Not any more, not these days.
And he was wrong, whatever he meant. There was a hell of a lot wrong with nice. Being nice, having nice. Nice had left her with a shit life and no-one who gave a monkeys about her. Nice was a one way street.
She tipped what was left of her drink down the sink. At least being bad meant she got something back.
“What has got into you?” Ella put her feet up on the glass topped coffee table so that they could both admire her new shoes. “Pissing off is one thing, but you never even answered my texts.”
Georgie could hear a note of hurt and felt an instant stab of guilt. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.” She knew what it felt like to be ignored so she didn’t often do it. Well, not to friends. She picked at a loose thread on the cushion she was holding. “He’s an ass. An insufferable jerked up ass.”
“So you said.”
“I’m sorry. But how can he be so fucking sanctimonious about being nice? I mean, since when did he do what he was supposed to?”
“Exactly.”
There was a dry edge to her tone and Georgie glanced up sharply. “Meaning?”
“What is it about you and bad boys?”
